


Ice, Ice Baby

by ryukoishida



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Figure skating is a complicated sport, and Haruka likes to avoid complications wherever possible. Rin thinks otherwise, but then again, he’s also considered to be a complication; Haruka never understands the intention of the boy with the strange hair and too-bright eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice, Ice Baby

            “So you’re the two-time national junior short track speed-skating champion, Haruka Nanase-kun, huh?”

 

            Haruka does a sharp, graceful turn, blades cutting the surface of the ice with such precision that the spray of white snow merely bounces against the rink board before falling soundlessly on to the ice.

 

            His young, blue eyes are cautious as he skates closer to the only figure present in the deserted rink, everybody else having already gone for the evening after the arduous practice.

 

            “Who are you?” If he’s in any way curious about the strange child with a shocking shade of red hair and equally bright irises that dance with something akin to amusement, Haruka makes sure that his expression stays as neutral as possible.

 

            “Rin Matsuoka – figure skater,” he introduces himself with a toothy grin.

 

            Haruka frowns – just a subtle dip of his brows – and he wonders what this boy wants with him.

 

            As a general unspoken rule, even though the figure skaters and speed skaters share the same arena with different allotted blocks of time, the kids almost never mingle or talk to each other.

 

            The figure skating group will pass by the speed skating children on their way out after practice, but they’d usually keep to themselves. It’s just how it had always been, but then out comes this new kid with the funny hair and Haruka has seen him practice when he sometimes arrives early, just watching stoically in the audience stands, but he never imagines that the red-head would actually decide to initiate a conversation with him out of the blue like that.

 

            Rin is an agile skater – strong, too, with energy surging from his core to the tips of his fingers whenever he lets the music takes over. He’s quick on his feet, and though one wouldn’t describe his style as delicate, even through Haruka’s untrained eyes, he can see the potential there, a precious stone still rough around the edges but the freedom to shine at its brightest is straining to be released.

 

            “What do you want?” Haruka is not known for being the friendliest child in the neighborhood, and his cool tone is usually misunderstood as rudeness. That attitude puts other children off from playing with him, but it never bothers Makoto Tachibana, who has known him since they were toddlers because their families live so close to each other.

 

And then there’s Nagisa Hazuki, a bubbly figure skater who’s a year younger and seems to have an impossible amount of energy to spare; the boy likes to hang around him and Makoto a lot because once he’s taken a liking to the brunet during their figure skating classes, it’s apparent that he’s difficult to shake off. While Makoto doesn’t seem to mind the loud-mouthed and easily excitable blond, Haruka just deems it too much trouble to open his mouth and tell him to go away.

 

            “Want to have a go?” Rin asks, his grin widening.

 

            “What?” Haruka’s frown deepens at the request. He can’t possibly mean…

 

            “Four and a half laps around the track – 500 meters. Whoever loses has to treat the other person to a hot chocolate,” Rin explains.

 

            “Why should I do it?” Haruka raises a brow in challenge.

 

            “Come on! Just humor me this once, Nanase.”

 

            “Why should I?” Haruka asks again.

 

            “Because I want to see who’s faster,” Rin replies matter-of-factly.

 

            Haruka blinks; he isn’t expecting such a blunt answer, but he supposes he shouldn’t find it that surprising either.

 

            “Too troublesome,” Haruka says with only a slight, unassuming pause. He’s about to skate away and ignore the boy before Rin’s voice rings out again.

 

            “If you do this with me, I will stop bothering you and stop talking to you, if that’s what you want,” Rin promises.

 

            “Just one race,” Haruka’s back is still towards him, unmoving in the center of the rink.

 

            “Just one,” Rin assures.

 

            “Fine.” Haruka sighs, a puff of white mist streaming from his mouth, and he turns to see the red-haired boy already stepping on to the ice, a scratched helmet which he has snatched from the equipment room dangling from his gloved fingers.

 

He vaguely wonders why a figure skating kid would want to race him. Figure skating requires an entirely different type of skill set, and though speed is one of the many criteria in being an excellent figure skater, it is not the main element with which a skater can score points. There are many questions circling within Haruka’s mind, but they refuse to come out in the form of words.

 

            They take their positions on the track with their bodies crouched in readiness and their gaze aiming straight ahead. Even thought it’s not an official race – even though the stands are empty of cheering spectators and the arena is deadly silent – there is an electrifying sense of thrill coursing through the cold air that smells faintly of stale metal and in their small bodies, adrenaline rushing in their blood as their limbs lock into place.

 

            “Ready. Set. Go!” The imaginary shot goes off, and the two boys – one dark and cold as winter’s night, the other bright and passionate as the summer’s morning – launch forward, their eyes fierce with a single-minded purpose as they maneuver their limbs in practiced ease, graceful and light as willow branches as they glide across the ice in such amazing speed that they are only two flashes of colours.

 

            Haruka’s turns are clean and defined, his lines smooth as he leans his weight inward with the support of his arm, fingers skimming the surface and drawing arcs in the thin layer of snow gathered there. Everything about his movements is measured and careful, and it’s precisely his ability to calmly strategize according to his own conditions as well as his competitors’ current states that allows him to win so many competitions in the past.

 

            Rin has always been trained as a figure skater, from what Haruka understands, so he doesn’t know what to expect when he feels the red-haired boy quickly charging up on him from behind after one lap. The pressure of his presence is stronger than any Haruka has experienced, and this has momentarily taken him by surprise. The feeling of being chased – of being so hotly pursued that he can almost feel Rin’s panting breaths on the back of his neck – drives him to go faster, his legs aching with tension but he has never felt more alive, the stretch of ice before him glittering like some kind of irritating sign.

 

            Once they go past the third lap, however, it’s very clear that Haruka is taking the lead. There has been several times when Rin tries to pass him during the turns, but the instant acceleration required almost makes him lose control, the blades of his skates scratching haphazardly and it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen once during the entire race.

 

            When he lost, Rin merely gives him the same bright grin, a cheerful exclaim of, “so that’s the power of a champion!” and Haruka doesn’t understand his intention at all, so he looks to the side, a slight frown pulling the corner of his lips down.

 

            “Come on, hot chocolate time – my treat,” Rin skates backward to the gate of the rink.

 

            “It’s okay,” Haruka murmurs, shaking his head once, but follows him out of the rink anyway. It’s late – almost past dinnertime. “I need to head home now.”

 

            This is the first day the two met and talked, and it’s also on that day that Haruka has learned that Rin likes to selectively ignore when people say ‘no.’

 

            So on that clear, cold night in December, with the orange streetlights that lined the empty road and trails of white fairy lights that glow softly like stars hanging suspended on the naked branches of the trees on the curb, Haruka and Rin each holds a paper cup that warm their hands, the scent of too-sweet chocolate drifting between them as they talk.

 

            Well, it’s Rin who’s doing most of the talking, but Haruka finds his voice – though brash and all too chirpy at times – strangely soothing, a sort of glimmering warmth emanating from that bright tone of his.

 

            “Why speed skating?” Rin asks suddenly. Up until this point, Rin has been chattering about his classmates at his own school, and how he’s sometimes teased because not only does he have the misfortune of bearing a girl’s name, but he’s also doing a “girly” sport, “whatever that means,” he has muttered with a shrug.

 

            Haruka blows the steam away from his face before taking a tentative sip of the drink. He’s not a fan of sweets in general, but Rin has been too insistent and Haruka has been too tired to fight about something as silly as a hot beverage.

 

            Haruka looks upward into the sky as if he’s giving it a lot of thought. There are many reasons he enjoys speed skating: he likes the feel of the fierce wind chaffing against his skin; he likes the feeling of flying across the ice, like he can leave all his troubles far behind if he can get away from them fast enough; he likes the adrenaline that rushes through his body whenever he overtakes his opponents in a race; and he likes the feeling of his heart thumping hard against his chest after he’s given everything he has.

 

“I like going fast,” Haruka finally replies. Everything just boils down to that one point, really.

 

            Rin stares at him from the side, like he can’t quite figure out what the dark-haired boy’s thinking, and he sees that Haruka is giving him a very serious answer.

 

            “That makes sense,” Rin nods with a light laugh. The two fall into silence again.

 

            Haruka doesn’t ask whether Rin’s house is really in the same direction. He figures the boy will go in his own way once Rin has decided he has bothered Haruka long enough for the day.

 

            “Ever thought about switching to figure skating?”

 

            “Not really.” That’s an easy question to answer.

 

            “Why not?” Rin wants to know, curiosity burning in his eyes. “You’d be really great at it, I think.”

 

            It’s too many fancy moves and unnecessary movements; the scoring system is flawed and a part of evaluation is based on the subjective views of the judges. Haruka doesn’t like the fact that he has to play to the judges’ favors to win; he wants to stand on the podium in his own right, by his own power and abilities.

 

In comparison, speed skating is much more simple and straightforward: you win by passing your opponents and reaching the finish line with the fastest times. Not that it means he doesn’t appreciate the complexities and elegance of figure skating; after all, he has seen Makoto and Nagisa skate in competitions, and though neither of them has ever placed higher than within the top ten in their age category, Haruka has seen how hard they’ve trained and how many different components they have to hit in order to get a decent score.

 

Figure skating is a complicated sport, and Haruka likes to avoid complications wherever possible.

 

            All those twists and spins, delicate footwork, musicality and interpretation required to tell a story purely by movements of the body, and having to deal with the constant pressure and fear of falling and getting back up – Haruka can see the sport as being a challenging one, but he’s happy being where he is.

 

            Well, “happy” might be too positive of a word. He feels… enough.

 

            “I’m content with what I’m doing in speed skating right now.” It’s not entirely a lie, Haruka argues in his head, his grasp on the paper cup tightening just the slightest. Rin notices the small shift of his muscles, and quickly glances at the quiet boy’s face again only to find that his mouth is set at a firm line.

 

            “That… is not the face of a person who’s satisfied with their current situation,” Rin observes, sipping at his hot cocoa and wincing when it burns the tip of his tongue.

 

            “What is it to you?” Haruka snaps. The volume of his voice is still quiet as fallen snow, but his tenor is sharp with impatience. He is still facing forward, eyes never straying away from the path before him.

 

            “Sorry!” Rin backs off immediately, not wishing to offend him further, but he has a tendency of saying the first thing that comes to his mind at times. His mother is always telling him to put a filter between his brain and that big mouth of his, but so far, Rin is not having a very high success rate. “I just.” He pauses there, wondering if he’d be stepping out of line for expressing a sentiment that’s been pressing at him ever since he saw Haruka’s lonesome figure in the empty ice rink.

 

No doubt, he’s one of the best speed skaters of his generation in Japan; it’s only a matter of time before he’ll be competing on the world stage, if he chooses to do so, but anyone who dares to look close enough would notice that there’s something not quite right with the winner standing on the podium.

 

Rin licks his lips nervously before continuing, “I just think that you’d be happier is all. You don’t seem all that excited when you won just now. I mean, yeah, I wasn’t trained in speed skating so you’d probably expected the result, but I was talking to Tachibana yesterday – ”

 

            “How do you know Makoto?” Haruka sends him a cold glare at the mention of his best friend. What has Makoto been telling this boy and how come he’s never mentioned Rin before?

 

            “We were assigned to be in the same practice group, so we’ve been chatting a lot,” Rin explains with a dismissive hand and attempts to return to his original tangent. “Anyway, I was asking him why he joined the skating club –”

 

            “Do you just go around interrogating people you don’t know?” Haruka mutters.

 

            “Oh hush. I’m curious, okay? And…” He scratches his cheek sheepishly, looking away towards the road where a passing car’s blinding headlights cast sharp contrasting shadows on his angular face. He looks almost… embarrassed, if Haruka were to guess.

 

            “And?” Haruka prompts, watching the red-haired boy from his peripheral vision.

 

            “I want to make friends; I just moved here a couple of weeks ago, so.” Rin says it in a rush, and dips his head to take a long drink from his cup.

 

            Haruka doesn’t say anything – not sure if Rin’s looking for a response.

 

            “Anyway,” Rin turns back to him brightly, all traces of shyness forgotten, “he said you’re the one who taught him how to skate! So when you decided to join the club, he followed you.”

 

            He gives a curt nod; both of those statements are true. Haruka was the one who introduced Makoto to skating when they were about seven years old, the Nanase family having finally persuaded the Tachibanas to join them on their annual winter holiday trip to Lake Akan one year.

 

Mrs. Nanase always jokes that Haruka can skate before he can kick a ball, because even as young as Haruka was at the time, after a few careless falls on the cold, hard ice (all of which had been dealt with without any tears at all, to his parents’ surprise) Haruka, on his wobbly knees and unwavering blue gaze, shuffled forward as awkwardly as any five year old was capable of without once falling.

 

            Hauling a very unwilling Makoto to the edge of the frozen lake was a feat on its own, the tiny brunet who was still staggering on trodden snow with his messily tied skates foreign on his feet was pulling onto Haruka’s jacket sleeve with a fearful glint in his eyes while he kept repeatedly shaking his head, refusing to take one step when they were finally on the fresh ice.

 

            Makoto wasn’t a natural like Haruka was, but with his friend’s guidance and helping hand, leading him as he took jerky steps forward that was more awkward waddling than actual skating and dragging him up again and again when he fell down, Makoto eventually gained enough confidence to skate on his own, a bright grin lighting up his entire face when he successfully skated for a few hours without tripping.

 

            It was Mr. Nanase who suggested joining Kitami Skate Club. Iwatobi doesn’t have an official skate club since the small fishing town only has an outdoor rink that’s pretty much falling apart and rarely used, and with the promise of being allowed to skate at least twice a week winter or summer, Haruka joined the club without a second thought. Makoto closely followed behind, and when Haruka asked him about that, Makoto merely shrugged with that bright, harmless smile of his, saying, “It’s meaningless if I’m not skating with you, Haru.” And that had been that.

 

            Makoto found that he enjoyed the musical element and artistic aspects of figure skating more, so when it came to the time for him to pick a specialty, Makoto joined the figure skating class while Haruka decided to stick to his strength and joined speed skating.

 

            “He said you looked a lot happier before you were pressured into participating the higher levels competitions,” Rin finishes, and adds as an afterthought. “‘He seemed more free’ were his exact words.”

 

            ‘Stupid Makoto,’ Haruka scolds in his mind though there’s no real malice to it, just slight annoyance, perhaps. He’s annoyed that his best friend would tell an almost-stranger such personal issues, and he’s even more annoyed about the fact that Makoto might actually be right; Haruka has perfected the skill of pretending that everything’s fine when it’s really not, and Makoto has the tendency to see through the huge, metal wall that Haruka has built around himself.

 

            “Is it true?”

 

            “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” Haruka replies coolly, and when they pass by a garbage can, he chucks his barely touched beverage into it. It’s getting cold, and so is this conversation. Haruka wishes it will end as soon as possible and that Rin will just go his own way already.  

 

            “I know, I know,” Rin laughs uneasily and he stops, forcing Haruka to halt his steps as well. Rin is playing with the cardboard sleeve of his cup, crimson gaze averted to the ground. “Look, Nanase, just… consider the option, yeah? You’ll never know until you’ve tried it, right?”

 

            Haruka heaves a sigh. He just doesn’t understand why the red-haired boy with the strange coloured eyes is so adamant about this. So what if his heart wasn’t soaring in joy with every race and competition he took part in and conquered? The enthusiasm that lets him fly freely over the ice gradually decreases with every insistent push by his coach to do better – beat his opponents’ times, beat himself when he gets to the top – and finally trickles down to little, pathetic bursts and quivers of not-quite-excitement, just the realization that “oh I got the fastest time again.”

 

            It’s not his pride speaking – at least Haruka doesn’t think so. He never really cares for times or worry about losing, which is rather ironic in the world of speed skating where having the quickest agility is an asset and having the fastest times lands you a place on the podium.

 

            “Fine.” Haruka mutters, shifting the strap of his bag that’s digging into his shoulder and hoping Rin will be satisfied with this answer and leave it at that.

 

            It seems to have done the trick, for Rin gives him one last grin before waving goodbye as he crosses the street and disappears under where the lights of the street can’t touch him, his small figure swallowed up by the night.

 

-

 

            Haruka doesn’t think about this exchange until years later when he sets eyes on Rin Matsuoka’s name and profile photo on the list of participants in this season’s regional competition.

 

            After that night, Rin had somehow snugly integrated into part of their little group. Even though he went to a different school, he still found time to hang out with the three of them after practice.

 

Thus, the first year of middle school went by uneventfully: Haruka stayed in speed skating, continuing to place in the top three spots in whatever races he happened to participate in, and Rin never mentioned his strange request again, but occasionally both he and Makoto would share silent, worried glances when they thought Haruka wasn’t paying attention, and this just made the dark-haired boy more resolute in staying with speed skating. It was his choice, and he would stick by it no matter what. He wouldn’t let anyone else tell him otherwise.

 

            This all changed when an accident happened the year Rin left for Colorado Springs to attend intensive skating training at the facility there. All it took was a minor slip at the sharp turn when all four of the contestants were attempting to pass each other in the tight space of the arc; a careless blade got tangled with another person’s foot and Haruka next found himself crushed against the rink board, his body facing upwards and all he saw then was the blinding white lights of the stadium, the crowd’s roaring melted into white noise in his head, and there was a piercing burn where his skate was binding too tightly over his left ankle.

 

            The three-month period of rest and physiotherapy gave Haruka time to truly sit down and calmly mull things over without any pressure, and he’d be lying if he said that Rin’s words from the first time they talked didn’t already place a seed in his head and affect his decision later on when he chose to switch to figure skating. Makoto, who was standing beside him, gave a surprised yelp and Nagisa outright cheered and then proceeded to give Haruka the biggest, tightest hug.

 

            In many ways, figure skating requires even more vigorous training and risks, but as easily as skating at breakneck speed has always been to Haruka, picking up the more delicate and detail-oriented steps of figure skating came almost just as effortlessly to him. Interpretation and musicality are more of a challenge, but his nearly perfect programs and consistently steady landings from spins and jumps are almost always enough to land him in the top five rankings. Through out the next four years of participating in different local and then regional singles events, Haruka has risen to become one of the most promising young figure skaters of his age.

 

            “Rin... is also competing in the same event?” Haruka hands the file back to Coach Sasabe.

 

            “Ah, that’s right! You and Rin used to hang around together a lot when you were younger, isn’t it?” The man shuffles the papers into order. Haruka gives a quiet hum and Sasabe adds, “He’s skating for Hokuto Academy now. I heard he returned to Japan at the beginning of the school year. I would’ve thought he’d contact you or Makoto; you three and Nagisa were quite close back then, if I remember correctly.”

 

            Again, Haruka doesn’t reply and only follows the coach out of the office and to the rink, where a small group of skaters have already gathered.  

 

            Shin-Yokohama Skate Center, which can house up to 2,500 spectators, will be the stage of the regional inter-high figure skating competition taking place over the span of three days and hosting four main events: women singles, men singles, pair skating, and ice dance.

 

            Two days before the competition, schools from different prefectures are assigned segments of practice time to get a feel of the rink so that the skaters can get used to the unfamiliar environment to make them feel more at ease.

 

            The two hours of ice time isn’t enough for Haruka, especially when he has to share the space with five other people except for the ten-minute segment when he’s doing a rundown of his short and long programs with the music over the loudspeakers. It’s hard for him to concentrate, the image of a small child with bright red hair and even brighter eyes keeps flashing across his mind.

 

            He remembers Rin telling the three of them that he’s leaving right after the last major competition of the season; he remembers the teary smile when he tells them how much he’s going miss them and that he’ll write to them every chance he gets; he remembers the tightness in his chest when Rin holds him close, wiry arms encircling him, and Haruka awkwardly patting his back with a small smile.

 

            Rin has been gone for almost five years and during that time, he did not send them any letter as he had promised.

 

            Haruka tries not to think about the implication of it too much; thinking means caring, and caring will ultimately lead to someone getting hurt.

 

            After dinner, he drags Makoto to a nearby smaller outdoor rink that opens until late at night. The brunet doesn’t interrogate him, even though the concerned glances he keeps sending his way tells Haruka that he already knows about Rin competing in the same event, and for that the dark-haired skater is grateful.

 

            They begin skating at around nine o’clock, and since it’s a weekday, an hour later finds the two gliding across roughened ice in a deserted rink.

 

            “You shouldn’t tire yourself out right before the competition,” Makoto gently chides as he stops next to Haruka, who has just finished landing a perfect triple lutz triple toe combo, the ends of his scarf still furling behind him in the evening breeze.

 

            “I’m not tired yet,” Haruka tells him, his cheeks slightly pink from cold and exertion.

 

            “But your muscles might not agree,” Makoto points out.

 

            “Half an hour?” Haruka gives his friend his best pleading expression.

 

            “Fine. It’s getting too cold for me, so I’ll be waiting inside,” Makoto nods towards the aging two-story administration building to their right.

 

            Haruka relents and as Makoto skates to the edge of the rink and looks back, he sees that his best friend is now practicing the Biellmann spin, the stretch of his leg and curve of his back as graceful and breathtaking to watch as always. With a helpless shrug, he leaves the rink.

 

            In the darkness with only patches of florescent light posts enclosing the circumference of the rink, Haruka can imagine that he’s the only soul awake in the city, the sound of traffic from nearby streets fades into the background as the breeze whispers indecipherable secrets to him, his legs carrying him across the ice so swiftly that breathing hurts a little and the muscles of his calves are sweetly burning as he pushes forward.

 

            They will meet face-to-face tomorrow; Haruka suddenly realizes this as he skids to an abrupt stop. After nearly five years of silence, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to initiate any sort of small talk that won’t end up with him becoming too frustrated to carry an actual conversation, because yes, he’s frustrated, and he’s angry because he doesn’t understand why Rin can appear in his life like a hurricane all those years ago and then leave a trail of destruction behind him just as quickly and suddenly.

 

            “Yo, Haru.”

 

            Haruka snaps his head up at the sound of his name. That long-forgotten voice. A different voice now – deeper, coarser – but somehow still able to ignite that familiar warmth in his chest.

 

            He’s grown taller – of course he has – and his forelocks fall past his crimson eyes and touch his cheeks when the wind teases through his hair.

 

            “Rin.” He has to convince himself that his voice is not shaking – that he’s not shaking.

 

            “Want to have a go?” His grin is shark-like and teasing, and it’s like those five years of silence have never existed. Rin Matsuoka is a tempest: arriving unannounced and though you’re never ready for him, he will burst in and cause disruption without so much as a warning or regret.

 

            A surge of slow-boiling rage is rising from the pit of his stomach, but he forces his tone to remain neutral and cool. “You’re on.”

 

            It’s a silly race – almost meaningless. They’re both figure skaters now, so finding out who’s faster won’t determine who’s better. Haruka isn’t even sure if that’s Rin’s original intention all along, or if, perhaps like himself, he’s just lonely and wants to befriend someone who shares his passion of skating.

 

            “Ready,” Haruka locks into position, one that he hasn’t held for many years but has been etched into his muscle memory since young. 

 

            “Set,” the tension in the winter air is palpable, and they are standing closer than necessary.

 

            “Go!” They shoot forward like arrows wound too tight – abrupt and out of control – so of course they both end up on the ground when one of them has the tip of their blade caught too deeply into the uneven ice and causes the other person to trip as well.

 

            “Ah, fuck,” Rin moans in muffled pain, a crumpled pile of black-red windbreaker and skinny jeans, but laughter is soon bubbling out instead. “I’m so out of practice.” He shifts to sit more comfortably on the ice, and next to him, Haruka silently gets back to his feet with a slight wince. “Shit, you okay, Haru?”

 

            Perhaps charging in and challenging Haruka first thing they meet after such a long time is a terrible idea on Rin’s part, but seeing Haruka’s lone figure in the night air stirs something hidden deep inside him back to life, a glow of ember, a spark that can light up a fire that swallows him whole. He has missed this – him.

 

            “None of your business,” Haruka snaps, his back facing him.

 

            “Wait.” Rin blinks, and before the dark-haired boy can go any further, he reaches out and catches his hand. It’s a reflexive gesture, but Rin has no intention of releasing him just yet.

 

            “Let go.” Though his words are cold, Haruka isn’t making a very strong attempt to pull away either.

 

            “I know you’re mad at me,” Rin mutters, head lowered but his grasp on Haruka’s gloved hand only tightens. “And I know saying sorry now probably won’t help much.”

 

            Haruka glances over his shoulder, and sees a resigned smile on Rin’s lips, the usually bright, lively eyes seeming to have dimmed under the light. Haruka wants nothing more than to ask what has happened over the years, and what has stopped him from contacting any of them. The number of questions swirling in his mind is as copious as the flakes shaken around wildly in a snow globe, and Haruka has no way to put them in orderly words.

 

            He senses Rin standing up, and he tugs his still figure closer; Haruka lets him, his body gliding smoothly towards Rin’s taller frame, his shoulder bumping against Rin’s chest.

 

            “Let me make it up to you after the competition?” The lilt at the end of his sentence makes it sounds like an unsure question, and when he meets Haruka’s eyes, the crimson of his irises gleams with a mixture of reticence, sincerity, and hope.

 

            Haruka swallows, eyes averting slightly to the left side of Rin’s face, and makes a frustrated, indiscernible noise.

 

            “Haru?” Rin lowers his head and Haruka unknowingly turns at the same moment; his lips are by his frozen cheek just as the sound of his name whispered across his skin.

 

            He’s not shivering from the proximity of their bodies; he’s not shivering at the tenderness in Rin’s voice when he calls out his name. He’s not.

 

            “We can talk afterwards,” Haruka allows, using his other hand to pry Rin’s fingers off his hand, the one that’s significantly warmer but he doesn’t dwell too long on that.

 

            He’s already at the edge of the rink before he hears Rin’s resolute yell, “I won’t go easy on you tomorrow though!”

 

            Haruka isn’t expecting him to.

 

-

 

            “Up next, with three more skaters to go, is Iwatobi High School’s Haruka Nanase!” A round of applause as he steps onto the ice, and while he brushes the announcer’s narration of his background and past distinctions to the back of his mind, he shakes his limbs loose and skates a few loops around the rink before he takes his start up position in the center.

 

            He feels hundreds of eyes staring at him: with curiosity, with envy, with expectation; he has long learned to ignore the pressure from the spectators, and instead, he takes in a deep breath with his eyes closed and releases it nice and slow.

 

            When he opens his eyes once more, the steel blue in them is fierce, burning.

 

            As the first few bars of quiet notes from Chopin’s “Winter Wind” trembles in the air, everything is still, waiting.

 

            Then the cascade of the trilling melody thunders across the arena, and Haruka breaks away, leaves all thoughts behind and pours his entire soul into the music. Since the musical piece consists of many tumultuous flow of the march-like theme, Haruka’s program is packed with difficult spins and jumps in triples or quads connected with complex and aggressive footwork, and to the trained eyes of the judges, it’s nothing short of amazing that this 17 year-old skater who’s only started figure skating six years ago is capable of carrying this condensed program with such controlled precision and solid landings.

 

            But it isn’t purely the near-perfection of his techniques that have the judges and audiences transfixed on the lithe skater; the expression on his face – usually stoic during his performances, which is one of the few critiques he constantly receives from the panels – is open and in a way, vulnerable.

 

There’s a hint of sorrow on his brows and deep-set rage in the curve of his lips; much like the merciless wind of December, he’s difficult to approach, the speed with which he skates gives the illusion that’s he a forgotten spirit chasing after rusted memory, restless and at one with the flow of winter’s bitter gale.

 

            When he finishes and applause and cheers erupt around him, Haruka finds his heart palpating even harder than usual. It’s the same routine, same music, same choreography, so why does he feel so much lighter?

 

            He doesn’t hear the announcement of his score, his attention fully on the next skater on the other end of the rink, and even from that distance, he can see Rin’s brilliant grin and a congratulatory thumbs-up. Only when he feels the affectionate squeeze on his shoulder from his coach does he look up at the scoreboard, his name currently sitting in the first place. The difference between him and the competitor in second place is a whooping range of ten points.

 

            Haruka doesn’t return to the green room to watch the remaining of the competition but lingers near the side of the rink. None of the staff has the heart to direct him away after that breath-taking performance.

 

            “Up next, we have Hokuto Academy’s Rin Matsuoka, who has spent the last few years abroad in the United States for training. He has won many medals in U.S. junior events. Today, he’ll be skating his short program to a segment of the first movement of Beethoven’s ‘Kreutzer Sonata’.”

 

            He has only ever saw Rin competed a handful of times years ago, and he has been impressed by the youngster’s performance and technique even back then, though he will never admit this to his face.

 

            Now, as Rin takes his place on the ice and the audience grows silent with anticipation, Haruka can appreciate the elegant form and lines of his still figure, the determined tilt of his lips as he closes his eyes.

 

            He unfurls, eyes fluttering open, like a blooming epiphyllum as the winding notes of the violin solo begins.

 

Every sweep of his arms, stretch of his legs is an extension of the melody. Soon, the piano joins in and the harmonizing of the two instruments leads up to the quick but bleaker minor key; his motions follow suit, the triple axel triple lutz combo and layback spin are filled with silent fury as the melody of the violin climbs to a dizzying crescendo.

 

            Perhaps it’s because he’s concentrating too hard on the rise and fall of the music, one of his jumps is slightly over-rotated from the extra energy and the landing is shaky, but he keeps going. He has a strong mentality; some skaters fall apart after a minor mistake simply because they can’t handle the added stress, but for Rin, a fall or a faulty landing is merely fuel that adds to his fighting spirit.

 

            There’s something vicious about the way Rin skates – animalistic and wild, almost. It’s a side that Haruka has never seen before, and he’s intrigued, drawn in by the way Rin seems to be able to exude the aura of the music’s explosive darkness with his body and the hungry glint in his bright eyes.

            As the piano dwindles into silence, and Rin’s body is locked into his final pose, the spectator stands burst with cheers and clapping, his teammates rising to their feet with a large banner with the school’s colours.

 

            While Rin makes his way to the kiss and cry area to wait for his result, Haruka slips back to the hallway and walks slowly towards the green room, a small smile lingering on his lips.

 

-

 

            “Congrats, Haru!” Turning away from his chattering schoolmates, who are still buzzing with excitement about the fact that Haruka is qualified to advance to the nationals in two months’ time, the dark-haired skater finds Rin standing on the top of the arena’s stairs just outside the entrance.

 

            “And to you,” Haruka replies stiffly. Haruka has finished second while Rin ends up in third place with a very narrow difference of 0.5 points. One of Rin’s teammates, a very tall, gangly teal-eyed powerful skater by the name of Sousuke Yamazaki, took first place.

 

            “Can I steal him for a minute?” Rin asks his friends cheerfully, and when Gou giggles, her brother sends her a pointed glare, which only makes the ice dancer laugh harder. Makoto gives him a knowing nod, and everybody else pretty much just pushes the protesting Haruka towards an amused Rin.

 

            With the prattles from the exiting crowd some distance behind them, Haruka and Rin stop at a quieter spot around the corner of the skate center.

 

            Haruka is playing with a loose piece of yarn on his scarf as he leans against the pillar. He feels like he should say something – something more than superficial congratulatory words that feels hollow, because while he’s happy that they are both qualified for the nationals, it doesn’t explain why his chest still feels unbelievably constricting whenever he sets eyes on the red-haired boy.

 

            “You were amazing up there,” Rin is the first to break the silence, as always, but it feels like small talk, something that neither really excels at. “Like I knew you would.”

 

            “Thanks,” he murmurs, head turning to the side. And the reaction is so Haruka-like, so fitting to Rin’s memory of him, that he can’t help but let a chuckle slip past.

 

            Haruka glares at him, irritated.

 

            But when Rin just smiles softly back at him, the expression uncharacteristically gentle, Haruka is taken aback, and an unfamiliar warmth floods his cheeks.

 

            “And you…” Haruka stops there, struggling to find the perfect phrase to describe Rin’s performance today, and realizes that he can’t. He can’t because he wants to say so much, and yet his vocabulary is maddeningly limited. His fingers gather into shaking fists, and he’s biting his lower lip in trepidation.

 

            “Don’t go popping a blood vessel now,” Rin jokes, but he wraps Haruka’s hands with his, and they visibly relax, the ice in them melting away from the contact.

 

            “Haru.” Rin is standing too close, their breaths mingling, chests against each other so that every inhale and exhale can be felt. Releasing a shuddering breath, Rin raises his hand and with heartbreakingly gentleness, he caresses Haruka’s flushed cheek, his head tilted slightly and his crimson eyes ask a silent question that Haruka somehow understands.

 

            “I’m going to kiss you now,” Rin’s murmur is more sensation against his skin than audible syllables.

 

            He nods once, giving consent, and slowly, ever so slowly Rin leans forward and places a small, tentative kiss on his lips.

 

            Haruka sucks in a breath at the contact, blinking into the sunlight that slants in from the west through the weak filter of the pine trees’ foliage nearby, and then Rin’s kissing him again, a hand winding to the back of his head and into his hair. The scent of clean sweat and that particular metallic smell of artificially formed ice that clings to their skin and clothes fill his nose, and Rin needs more, craves for the little noises Haruka is making when Rin licks into his mouth all filthy and consuming, his other hand settling on Haruka’s waist.

 

            When it escalates to the point that it’ll become public indecency, Rin releases the dark-haired boy, both of their breaths ragged in turfs of white vapor slipping from between their kiss-swollen lips.

 

            “Been wanting to do that with you since forever,” Rin admits in a whisper.

 

            “Is that why you’re always so insistent on me joining figure skating?” Haruka raises a delicate brow.

 

            “That’s part of the reason, yeah,” Rin laughs lightly. Haruka hits his arm but he’s smiling a little, too, bashful but pleased all the same.  

 

            “And partly because I want to see you like this,” Rin touches the corner of his mouth with his thumb, the curve of his lips, the quiet joy reflected in his cobalt eyes.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Being happy when you’re doing what you love on the ice.”

 

            Haruka wants to tell him that winning silver in the event is not the sole reason for his happiness today. It’s the fact that he gets to see Rin shine as he skates to the best of his abilities and triumphs, the fact that he can share this experience with him despite their years of separation, and the exhilaration of chasing after one another, like the first time they met and demanded a race; it has been determined right from the start.

 

            When they return to the Iwatobi group, they pointedly ignore their friends’ deliberate grins and twitching eyebrows.

 

            This will be a life-long competition to pursue their dreams and future, Haruka knows. He also knows that Rin is someone who will continue to simultaneously push him further and pull him closer; he’s a worthy friend and an admirable rival; he’s so much more than that, too.

 

 

           

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oh. My. God. This has been so painful to write. Close to 7,000 words. JFC. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I’ll never know. Anyway, if you’re curious, Haru skates to Chopin’s “Étude in A minor, Op. 25, No. 11 ” and Rin skates to Beethoven’s “Violin Sonata No. 9 First Movement.” Yeah, I’m not inspired by the music of “Your Lie in April” at all, haha.


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